It rained heavily this week all over Israel. Not particularly notable for late November, unless you happen to be one of the 8,500 people who were evicted from their homes last August as part of the Gaza withdrawal plan.
For many of them, the heavy rains prove to be one more trial to endure in the turmoil that their lives have become since these Israelis lost any semblance of normalcy more than three months ago.
At Ir HaEmunah (City of Faith), the tent city established by former residents of Atzmona in the wake of their eviction, parents desperately attempt to swoosh 2-3 inches of water away from their meager belongings in their makeshift homes. In between sweeps with a rubber floor sweeper, Moshe, 35, a father of six, explains that the rain seeped in during the early morning hours while everyone was still asleep on their iron cots. Anything left on the floor, including cardboard boxes of clothing and plywood bookshelves, is sopping wet and unlikely to dry out anytime soon. Someone had the foresight to build the communal toilets and showers on wooden planks, but kids who woke up to the sound of rain had to slosh through the water with damp towels to start their day.
"Welcome to the ma'abarot [early post-independence-period temporary dwellings for Jewish refugees from Arab countries] of 2005," exclaims a middle-aged woman as she welcomes visitors to the mud-soaked entrance to Ir HaEmunah, just outside the southern town of Netivot.
"If you don't come to see it, you can't believe it," adds Michal, a former Atzmona schoolteacher. Michal explains that Atzmona residents had the opportunity to move to scattered apartments offered by the Disengagement Authority after the evictions. "But we know that ultimately we want to build a new community in the Negev together, and once we would be scattered, it would be almost impossible to sustain that goal." So, the intrepid pioneers, who endured thousands of Kassam rocket and mortar attacks during their time in the far south of Gush Katif, close to the terrorist nest of Rafiach, decided to take advantage of an offer of an empty industrial warehouse to set up their tent homes inside.
More than 55 families are here, trying to negotiate a solution to their plight. The renowned Atzmona pre-army mechina program has relocated to the community of Yated, but the remaining residents try to maintain a positive attitude and routine amidst the difficult physical conditions. Just last week, a number of rundown caravans (mobile homes) were brought into the area, which are an improvement over the industrial tents shored up by plywood that make up the homes inside. One small, half-assembled playground sits starkly in the mud outside the caravans. Inside the cold, cavernous warehouse space, kids wander around, pushing at the water with their shoes.
Michal describes how they built the school rooms on the second floor of the structure in a three-week period. But the school is not recognized by the state, so supplies are bought and salaries paid by the community itself. "We have lots of donations," Michal smiles. Michal and her friends are wearing the lavender fleece jackets provided by Project Warm-Up, an initiative operated and funded largely by Jerusalem-based, English-speaking immigrants to provide warm winter coats for every evictee.
Until recently, none of the families had their own cooking facilities and meals were eaten communally, provided by a kibbutz catering service. Someone donated one electric hotplate burner for each family, "...and you can't imagine how good our first omelette tasted!" exclaimed Michal.
The inability to prepare meals for one's family is one of the most-often cited complaints of the evictees scattered in hotels all over the country. Parents don't go out to work -- their previous workplaces vanished overnight -- they don't shop and they don't cook. The kids of the hotel families don't help out -- there's nothing for them to help with. So, essentially, all traditional family functions have been disrupted.
Michal says that the Ir HaEmunah people have now been told they will have to remain there for another 2-3 months until their new, temporary homes in Lachish, south of Hebron, will be ready.
Meantime, the source of their strength, their synagogue, has been recreated by joining together two mobile homes. Residents managed to salvage their beautiful, light, wood synagogue seating and the Ark, together with its blue velvet covering. "I cried when we davened there on the first Shabbat after we were evicted," says Michal. "But week by week, it's gotten better. We're resolved to rebuild ourselves," she adds.
[Part 1 of 2]
Photos of places and people mentioned in this story may be seen at http://flickr.com/photos/jerusalemdiaries
© Judy Lash Balint. 2005
For many of them, the heavy rains prove to be one more trial to endure in the turmoil that their lives have become since these Israelis lost any semblance of normalcy more than three months ago.
At Ir HaEmunah (City of Faith), the tent city established by former residents of Atzmona in the wake of their eviction, parents desperately attempt to swoosh 2-3 inches of water away from their meager belongings in their makeshift homes. In between sweeps with a rubber floor sweeper, Moshe, 35, a father of six, explains that the rain seeped in during the early morning hours while everyone was still asleep on their iron cots. Anything left on the floor, including cardboard boxes of clothing and plywood bookshelves, is sopping wet and unlikely to dry out anytime soon. Someone had the foresight to build the communal toilets and showers on wooden planks, but kids who woke up to the sound of rain had to slosh through the water with damp towels to start their day.
"Welcome to the ma'abarot [early post-independence-period temporary dwellings for Jewish refugees from Arab countries] of 2005," exclaims a middle-aged woman as she welcomes visitors to the mud-soaked entrance to Ir HaEmunah, just outside the southern town of Netivot.
"If you don't come to see it, you can't believe it," adds Michal, a former Atzmona schoolteacher. Michal explains that Atzmona residents had the opportunity to move to scattered apartments offered by the Disengagement Authority after the evictions. "But we know that ultimately we want to build a new community in the Negev together, and once we would be scattered, it would be almost impossible to sustain that goal." So, the intrepid pioneers, who endured thousands of Kassam rocket and mortar attacks during their time in the far south of Gush Katif, close to the terrorist nest of Rafiach, decided to take advantage of an offer of an empty industrial warehouse to set up their tent homes inside.
More than 55 families are here, trying to negotiate a solution to their plight. The renowned Atzmona pre-army mechina program has relocated to the community of Yated, but the remaining residents try to maintain a positive attitude and routine amidst the difficult physical conditions. Just last week, a number of rundown caravans (mobile homes) were brought into the area, which are an improvement over the industrial tents shored up by plywood that make up the homes inside. One small, half-assembled playground sits starkly in the mud outside the caravans. Inside the cold, cavernous warehouse space, kids wander around, pushing at the water with their shoes.
Michal describes how they built the school rooms on the second floor of the structure in a three-week period. But the school is not recognized by the state, so supplies are bought and salaries paid by the community itself. "We have lots of donations," Michal smiles. Michal and her friends are wearing the lavender fleece jackets provided by Project Warm-Up, an initiative operated and funded largely by Jerusalem-based, English-speaking immigrants to provide warm winter coats for every evictee.
Until recently, none of the families had their own cooking facilities and meals were eaten communally, provided by a kibbutz catering service. Someone donated one electric hotplate burner for each family, "...and you can't imagine how good our first omelette tasted!" exclaimed Michal.
The inability to prepare meals for one's family is one of the most-often cited complaints of the evictees scattered in hotels all over the country. Parents don't go out to work -- their previous workplaces vanished overnight -- they don't shop and they don't cook. The kids of the hotel families don't help out -- there's nothing for them to help with. So, essentially, all traditional family functions have been disrupted.
Michal says that the Ir HaEmunah people have now been told they will have to remain there for another 2-3 months until their new, temporary homes in Lachish, south of Hebron, will be ready.
Meantime, the source of their strength, their synagogue, has been recreated by joining together two mobile homes. Residents managed to salvage their beautiful, light, wood synagogue seating and the Ark, together with its blue velvet covering. "I cried when we davened there on the first Shabbat after we were evicted," says Michal. "But week by week, it's gotten better. We're resolved to rebuild ourselves," she adds.
[Part 1 of 2]
Photos of places and people mentioned in this story may be seen at http://flickr.com/photos/jerusalemdiaries
© Judy Lash Balint. 2005